


Before you're lost between the notes

by SinOfPride



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Confrontations, First Time, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinOfPride/pseuds/SinOfPride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dean, please, I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, voice a shaky whisper, but he still wasn’t moving away and Dean didn’t know what Sam expected from him. What the next step was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before you're lost between the notes

**Author's Note:**

> It’s hard work, but they need to build new bridges once the old ones have been burnt away. Set in season 4 after the siren episode (4x04 Sex and Violence).

The scenery went by in a blur. Dean barely paid attention to the road as he drove aimlessly, refusing to stop if only because it gave him an excuse not to think, not to dwell on what exactly he’d been driving away from. 

He wished he could have left behind the words said, easy as they left the smoldering remains of the Siren that had brought them out to light.

In the end, he only stopped when Sam waved vaguely at an upcoming exit, mumbling something about Dean being exhausted. Dean didn’t really listen to his words, to his tone, didn’t look at his brother as he pulled over to the first motel he saw and stumbled out of the car to get them a room. 

The motel clerk gave him a wary look and asked pointed questions, but Dean wasn’t in the mood to care. He asked for a room and didn’t say another word until the key to room 11 was in his hand and he was waving at Sam to move his ass to the far end of the row of bland white doors. 

Dean didn’t bother moving the car around. He walked to their room and unlocked the door, left it open for Sam to come in behind him as he moved inside. Didn’t really think about it, just let his steps lead him straight to the bathroom just as he heard Sam’s steps on the gravel outside, approaching the room. 

“Dean?” He heard from behind him, but didn’t turn around.

The lock clicked into place with ease and Dean stood in the darkened room for a few minutes, just catching his breath. He didn’t look up at his reflection in the dirty mirror, content to stare at his feet as he tried to get himself under control, tried to shed the tension from the drive over.

More than five hours, he noted, staring at the numbers on his watch when he turned on the overhead light. Over five hours of stone cold silence, music having been turned off some two hundred miles behind them. 

Dean had a lot of tension to shed from his shoulders. 

From the other side of the door he could hear the rustling sounds of Sam carrying his things- and probably Dean’s, he hadn’t bothered with his bag before he’d fled into the room- inside, settling in. Dean tried not to think about what Sam’s expression might be, indecipherable as he’d seemed after the few stumbling attempts at denial back when they’d parted from Bobby. Dean’s jaw ached from where he’d been grinding his teeth ever since, on edge and grateful for every minute where they didn’t talk, didn’t lie again. 

His reflection looked hollowed out when he happened to raise his head. At least his breathing felt somewhat under control again. Stupid anxiety crisis, rising up when least expected; Dean thought he’d had them under control by now.

_Because you're too weak to go after her, Dean. You're holding me back._

Fuck it.

Turning on the shower, Dean set about removing his clothes, mindful of the painful twinge from his shoulder every time he moved. The bandage there was soaked through with blood and Dean peeled it off with little care, tossing it into the sink. Damn Bobby with the knife-happy hand, couldn’t he have just shoved Dean over or something? 

Then again, gloating Siren, fire axe in a downward arc towards Sam’s throat- maybe not. The pain was a good way to gain focus and Dean damn well needed some of that right now. 

The water in the shower was lukewarm at best, warming up too slow on pipes that were probably older than Dean was. He stood underneath the flow regardless, grateful for the decent water pressure, grateful for the pins and needles sensation on his limbs, which helped keep his thoughts on the now. 

Dean’s body felt battered, bruised all over from Sam pushing up against him, from his fists and all his anger. His muscles had stiffened up in the drive, the sensation painful enough on its own, but it seemed like the shower was only now awakening numbed pains, rocketing up the discomfort a few levels instead of soothing it. 

It was a good excuse as any, Dean thought, for the burning in the back of his eyes and the difficulty in catching his breath. 

Dean felt the water temperature rise up drastically, his skin starting to tingle and burn, but he let it. He scrubbed a brisk hand over his eyes, up into his hair and pulled at the strands, just standing there breathing and hurting and desperate for something, anything to soothe the restlessness under his skin: the need to _get away_ that hadn’t abandoned him for five hours and longer. Get away from what was said, from Sam, from everything spiraling out of his control. 

Sam hated him. It was hardly the first time the thought crossed his mind, not even the first time it felt justified and rang _true_ in every one of his nerves. He let that knowledge wash over him like the water, absorbed it and ignored the hot trail of moisture sliding down his face, salt water mixing up with the shower. 

Washing up was slow work, mostly because Dean didn’t want to hurry it up. He spread the cheap motel soap to lather his skin, cataloguing his hurts in a detached manner.

He’d sprained a muscle in his back, probably when he’d been slammed through that wood panel and his shoulder felt stiff and hotter than the rest of his skin. The area around the knife wound was sore and red, but he didn’t spare it the sting of the soap. He’d have to be careful about it getting infected. 

His head ached like someone had shoved that damned axe into his brain and left it buried there. His neck felt like someone had tried to strangle him- he knew the feeling- and his hands were raw, his knuckles bruised and sore. His face was one dull throb, especially around his left eye and jaw. He had a split lip. He was still crying, silently, with no real input on his part. His stupid eyes wouldn’t stop leaking. 

When Dean cut off the water, the TV was on in the next room, a low hum of sound that felt comforting. He couldn’t really hear Sam in there, if he was even in. Maybe he’d gone off to find Ruby and inform her of the latest developments. Maybe she’d laugh, gloating over Sam finally speaking his mind to his slow brother, laying it all on the table. No shades of gray, just black and white.

_I’m a better hunter than you are, stronger, smarter._

He dried off roughly, distantly noticing that he hadn’t brought in any clothes to change into and that he’d made his shoulder start bleeding again. Dean didn’t really pay much attention to the wound, lowering the towel from his hair to stare at himself in the mirror head on. 

His eyes looked glazed, he noted. Red-rimmed and dull, as if he was stoned. He’d sure like to be, at any rate. The back of his throat itched with the need to drink something, but he knew he had drunk the last of his whiskey with Nick. The Siren that had so easily fooled him into trusting it, because he’d needed someone to trust, someone to talk to.

“Stupid fucker,” He told his reflection, mouthed the words in case Sam could hear him. His brother didn’t need more added to his repertoire of why Dean was an obstacle in his way, didn’t need to add Dean’s self-recriminations like another weapon in Sam’s already loaded arsenal. 

It was so easy to fool him, these days. Hell, always. So needy, he’d fall for anyone tossing him scraps of attention, of affection. Even monsters. 

_You're too busy sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, whining about all the souls you tortured in hell. Boo hoo._

Yeah, that much was right. Enough with the emo bullshit, they had an apocalypse to divert and Dean’s sad little story wouldn’t put it off. 

There’d either be enough time after the war to dwell in all the things hidden in the corners of his mind- _things he’d only acknowledged aloud because_ Sam _had pushed, damn him, fuck him and his self-righteous mockery of the trust Dean had put on his head_ \- or there wouldn’t be and it would all be over either way. 

Sam was there when he opened the door, lounging on one of the beds and stealing glances at him as he passed. The silence hung heavy between them, made more bearable by Dr. Phil’s voice in the background. Dean didn’t look back at Sam, too busy digging through his bag, which Sam had left on the other bed, guilt apparently acting as incentive to carry his shit, for some clean underwear. 

“Dean.” Sam called from behind him, sotto voce he’d come to dub as the ‘don’t hide from your feelings!’ tone. It set his nerves on edge, so Dean didn’t acknowledge it, dropping the towel around his waist to put on his boxers and start digging for the med kit to put stitches on his shoulder. 

“What?” Dean finally asked when the silence stretched too long and uncomfortable. He didn’t turn around, feeling Sam’s eyes on his back. The med kit was buried under his dad’s journal in his bag and Dean dug it out. 

“Stop this. What I said, I didn’t mean it like it sounded back there,” Sam said, rehearsed speech from a thousand times before. Dean nodded, shrugging it off like a thousand other times. Lather, rinse, repeat. “Damn it, look at me. I’m trying to apologize.” 

“We went over this, there’s no need for that, Sam.” Dean answered calmly, proud of how cool and collected his voice sounded. “We’re good. But for the record, let’s cut the bullshit. You meant it, so did I.” 

He turned to look at Sam, because not doing so for longer was an admission of weakness Dean could clearly not allow himself. Sam looked at him with dark, intent eyes that didn’t look contrite. Sam looked angry and tired, but not guilty. 

Dean remembered, back at the asylum case, when Sam had shot him after laying down the law. Sam had looked so guilty back then, apologizing with wet, worried eyes that hid the glimmer of truth and certainty behind what he’d said. 

Sam now, looking at him dead in the eye, wasn’t hiding anything. Dean refused to look away first.

“You told me what you think, I did the same. Should clear the air, right? It’s healthy and all that crap.” 

Dean continued his diatribe at Sam’s silence, easy-breezy and confident, but it was a mask and Sam obviously knew it, from the way his lip curled to the side like he was scoffing at Dean’s words. Dean didn’t have it in him to get riled up, chest hollow and too small for his lungs, for his heart. 

“Let’s leave it.”

“Let’s not.” Sam ground out, standing in one smooth movement as if his body wasn’t sore and stiff, as if Dean hadn’t even touched him back in that hallway, seconds away from cutting his fucking head off with an axe. 

Dean let him get closer because he wouldn’t back down, but was grateful all the same when Sam left some space between them as he stood in front of him, staring him down like he expected- what? For Dean to deck him? Cry? What? 

“Dean, what I said-” He began and Dean smiled, or tried to at any rate, face just as sore and uncooperative as the rest of him. 

“You meant it.” He taunted, cutting Sam off and looking into his eyes like a challenge. 

“Dean-”

“Just admit it, Sam.”

“Fine. Fine, is that what you want? I did mean it.” Sam acknowledged in a firm voice, never one to lose ground, of course not, much less in front of Dean. Always the one with the upper hand, the killing blow, but Dean was proud of how he didn’t let his face fall, didn’t let the hurt show in his expression. 

“So, that’s that.” Dean said, calm as anything and turned away, not the least surprised when Sam grabbed his arm to keep him in place. 

“Look, Dean, I’m not sorry.” Sam said, gaze hard and focused. “Not for what I’m doing. You know the way I said those things was because of the Siren. The words, they- I don’t think you’re weak, all right?” 

Dean didn’t answer. Let Sam speak his mind, because Dean knew better than to try and stop him once he started. His expression didn’t change and he didn’t struggle against Sam’s hold, too weary to instigate another fight. 

“But you are holding me back from my goal, we both know that. Not because I’m so much better than you, but because you disagree with what I’m doing. How am I supposed to involve you in something you don’t want to be a part of?” Sam told him earnestly, eyes bright. 

Dean wasn’t touched, wasn’t moved into agreeing with using Sam’s demon-given powers. He would never be moved into approving of Sam tainting himself like that under a demon’s guidance.

“Dean, let’s just cut the bullshit like you said. You’re traumatized and you’re still getting back on your feet and I don’t _blame_ you for that. I don’t. But-”

_You’re not standing in my way anymore._

“You done?” Dean interrupted then, unwilling to listen to the rest, to what Sam thought was acceptable behavior after 40 years spent in Hell. 

He was wholly unsurprised when Sam’s eyes flashed with anger and suddenly he was pressed against the motel wall, Sam looming over him, hands digging into Dean’s shoulders like a vice. His wound was bleeding sluggishly, flaring in pain at Sam’s hold, but Dean didn’t look away, even when Sam shook him once, hard. 

“Shut up. Just shut up and listen for once, I’m trying to explain like you wanted.” Sam hissed and Dean just stared up at him. His heart was racing and Sam’s touch burned in all the wrong ways, but he didn’t show it. Dean refused to show it. 

“Dean, when you died, I had to move on. I didn’t want to. I raged and fought against it, but to _survive_ it, I had to. I had to let go in the end and choose a path. And I did. I chose to go after Lilith, Dean-”

That was it, though. That was as much truth as he could bear. Dean broke Sam’s hold and moved away, landed a punch straight into Sam’s solar plexus when Sam moved instinctively to corner him again. 

“I’m real fucking sorry I came back to intrude on your ‘path’, Sam.” He finally said into the ensuing silence, and if his voice was broken over the words, Dean didn’t care. “Stupid me who thought you’d actually appreciate that I got out of hell.”

He didn’t back down from Sam’s gaze, but he moved out of reach and stared him down, his own breathing harsh in his ears. His chest hurt like his insides were twisted into some unrecognizable shape. 

“No Dean, you can’t blame me for this.” Sam said. But Dean could. He could, because it had only taken four months for Sam to let him go, to outgrow him and forget every single thing he’d taught him. 

Dean laughed, a half strangled sound that got stuck in his throat. Suddenly Sam was moving in again and Dean wasn’t fast enough to evade him, iron-clad grip on Dean’s forearms forcing him to look up into Sam’s determined, cold eyes. 

“You can’t blame me for doing what I had to so I could keep on living, Dean. It’s what you wanted. It’s what you died for. And all that I’m doing now, Dean- no, no _listen to me._ ” Sam shook him hard again, cutting off his protests. “You came back. Hey, listen; you came back after I’d given up. You were saved and now I have to keep you safe by any means necessary. I won’t hold back from doing that, not even for you.” 

Dean stared at him, struck silent by Sam’s candor and the sheer ridiculousness of his statement. Sam’s eyes were dead serious though, hard and cold but centered with frightening intensity on him, like Dean was the freaking Holy Grail or something equally ludicrous. Dean could barely catch a breath when Sam leaned his forehead against his, Sam’s too tight grip bruising the skin of his arms. 

“Sam-” He started to say, but Sam was already talking over him, voice suddenly hushed, like sharing a secret.

“I won’t let you die again, Dean, do you hear me? I didn’t do all I could have when I still had a chance to save you and you went to _hell_.” Sam said, choking the words out into the air between them, like he couldn’t bear to say it any louder. 

The grip that held Dean’s arms slackened and Dean wasn’t sure how, but the restraining hold suddenly transformed. Sam’s hands were suddenly framing his face and Sam just closed his eyes, sharing Dean’s breathing as he kept talking, the words almost too low to be heard. 

“The bitch that took you is still out there, Dean. I can stop her, I know I can stop her, and I will. Apocalypse be damned, Lilith won’t get you again. Nobody will.” 

Dean absorbed the words, the fact that Sam was practically cradling him and suddenly he was shaking, feeling Sam’s arms tighten around him. But he wasn’t breaking down, he was fucking cracking _up_ because this was just too much, wasn’t it? This was freaking priceless. 

“Are you serious?” Dean finally got out, an edge of laughter- hysterical or not, Dean wasn’t gonna analyze it- that made Sam draw back and stare at him with incredulous, wounded eyes. 

Dean just pushed him back and looked at Sam. He didn’t know what this was, didn’t know what Sam thought he was playing, but Dean might be weak- he was, he knew he was, he wasn’t blind on top of it- but he wasn’t fucking stupid. “What the fuck, man?” 

“Dean, what-” Sam started, but Dean cut him off, standing there in his boxers with his bleeding shoulder and his Sam-shaped bruises. Sam’s malicious voice was still ringing in his ears, his sardonic little smile without a hint of regret as he tossed every one of Dean’s weaknesses back into his face with nothing short of glee. 

_Boo hoo_

“You think you can just sprout that bullshit and cuddle me a little and it’ll all be fine?” Dean laughed incredulously, moving away from Sam to run a shaking hand through his hair. 

God, he needed space. And whiskey. And possibly a new non-delusional little brother he could possibly talk some sense into.

When Sam didn’t answer immediately, Dean just turned on the spot and walked to his discarded bag, digging for some clothes he could toss on and get out, off to somewhere where he could just push this whole stupid fight to the back of his mind. He wasn’t even thinking as he started gathering the rest of his things, dead set on being anywhere else.

Sam thought he had to protect him like some fainting damsel in distress, fine. Dean would just have to prove to him how fine he was, how much he didn’t need to be _coddled_. Sam should be worried about himself. Dean refused to be used as a lame excuse for Sam to give into everything that the demons wanted from him.

“Dean, what the hell? I’m trying to be honest here, I’m telling you-”

“You’re telling me what you think will make me back off, Sam, that’s what you’re telling me.” 

Dean bit the words out through clenched teeth, angry beyond words and comprehension as he pulled jeans over his legs, buttoning them up and digging for a T-shirt he could toss on and be out the door before Sam started sprouting more lies. 

“It’s all for my own good, is that it?” Dean hissed venomously, not backing down at Sam’s obviously growing fury. “I should just let my little brother turn into the fucking antichrist, because you think I’m too weak to fight my own battles. You want me to stand aside and let you go to hell, selling me this crap about protecting me. Face it Sam, you’re only giving in because you want to, because it feels good to have that power. You’re doing it because it’s easier and I’m ruining your little bubble by making you see that what you’re doing is _wrong_.” 

Finally a shirt came loose from the pile in his bag and Dean pulled it on, uncaring if it was inside out or if it was stained with who knows what from a previous hunt, just intent with getting out, getting away. 

But Sam was there all of the sudden, tossing Dean’s bag out of his reach and pushing him hard onto the bed behind him. The landing stole the breath from his lungs and Sam was immediately climbing on top of him, pressing his advantage to ride out Dean’s desperate attempts to get him off, to stop Sam from pinning him immobile against the bedding. 

“You’re a fucking hypocrite!” Sam hissed into his ear, breath too hot on his face. Dean struggled hard, but Sam’s grip was too tight around his wrists, his arm unyielding against Dean’s throat and he couldn’t get loose. “You went to hell to save me, because you couldn’t live if I was dead. You went to hell because you were too weak to be alive without me. Shit, you were happy to go, don’t you remember?” 

“Get the fuck off me!” Dean shouted and to his shame felt too hot tears escaping from the corner of his eyes as he struggled. But Sam didn’t let up, his voice like poison in Dean’s ear. 

“I lived through it, Dean. I lived through your death _twice_ , for months at a time. And I’m stronger now, because of it.” Sam was saying, “I don’t depend on you now, don’t you realize? I don’t need you to look after me and pretend you can take care of me, it’s my turn now. I have to keep you safe because I can’t do this again, Dean, I won’t.” 

Dean couldn’t think past the words, past the desolation they brought him, denying everything he was with just a few sentences, deeming him useless. He barely processed that Sam was almost sobbing on his shoulder as he said them, voice ragged like the words he’d kept hidden for months were being ripped from his chest. Worse than the Siren, because this was them and there was nothing to blame for the hurts inflicted.

“Dean. Dean, please, listen to me. I’m doing this for us. So we can win this, so we can have this.” 

“Let go of me, let GO!” Dean repeated mindlessly, struggling against Sam’s weight, against Sam’s words, against the tears that were trying to slide down his face. 

Sam moved back, tried to look at him in the eye, but Dean took advantage of the shift in the hold, freeing one of his legs to knee Sam in the stomach. The blow was hard enough to have Sam loosen his grasp and Dean didn’t waste a second to elbow Sam off him, scrambling from the bed as fast as he could. Not fast enough though, because Sam was there again, dragging him back, biting off curses as he tried to hold him down.

“Listen to me, LISTEN!” Sam finally shouted, right into his ear and Dean was so tired of this dance, was just exhausted and he finally gave up, went limp beneath his brother and felt Sam’s grip on him tighten. “Look, we’re never gonna agree on this. I’m sorry, okay? I’m-I’m so sorry about the things I said. About- how things have been since you came back.”

Dean didn’t answer him. He just turned his head away and tried to breathe, tried to rein in the tears that were burning his eyes. He felt Sam’s grip on his wrists slowly loosen, knew he’d have bruises there tomorrow, but he didn’t move. Sam was half straddling him, staring at him like he was trying to analyze what had just happened.

“Dean, please, I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, voice a shaky whisper, but he still wasn’t moving away and Dean didn’t know what Sam expected from him. What the next step was.

“Are you gonna let me go anytime soon?” Dean finally asked, not making a move to free himself. His voice was hoarse but steady, and he let himself feel proud of that. Dean felt like he was falling to pieces right here, in front of his brother, his _stronger, smarter_ brother who didn’t need him, whom he was holding back.

“No,” Sam said, said so fiercely that Dean looked up at him without thinking. Sam was staring straight at him, red-rimmed eyes trained on Dean’s, focused and serious in a way that truly managed to make him afraid- just for a moment- of the thoughts swirling in Sam’s head. 

Then Sam’s hands were framing his face again, so careful, in perfect contrast to the steely look in his eyes. Dean tried to look away, frowning in discomfort, but Sam didn’t let him. 

“No, Dean.” He said, and before Dean could ask what he meant, Sam’s face was getting closer and Dean was thinking, _what the hell, is he going to-_ and then Sam’s mouth was somehow on his, tongue parting Dean’s slack lips and pressing inside his mouth like he had every right to. 

Dean didn’t have a clue what the fuck was going on though. 

He didn’t kiss back, eyes open and blank when Sam drew back and met his gaze with something like apology mixed with an expression of resolve Dean didn’t know what to do with. Dean didn’t say anything, honestly speechless for the first time in recent memory, but he moved his face away when Sam tried to swoop down for another confounding kiss like it was perfectly natural.

It wasn’t. God, it was downright _unnatural_ in every possible way.

“I’m not letting you go again.” Sam said, voice hushed, still way too close for comfort. Sam offered him no more explanation or apology than that. His hold on him had gone slack and Dean slid away with ease, breathing completely out of whack as he retreated to lean against the headboard, watching Sam with wary eyes when his brother didn’t move away. 

“Are you gonna tell me what was that?” Dean finally asked when the silence dragged on. Sam had yet to look away from him, like he was weighing his next course of action but he didn’t seem nervous or worried about Dean’s reaction. 

Dean couldn’t help but resent him for that. 

“The kiss?” Sam asked, gaze steady as he shrugged. “That was my way of saying yes. We can have that, Dean.”

“What the hell makes you think I _want_ that, Sam?” Dean couldn’t help but exclaim, his voice rising with every word, but Sam didn’t seem phased. Dean scoffed and stood from the bed, pacing a few steps out of sheer need to move and do something. He had no idea what guidebook Sam was reading from; this was so far out of his realm of experience it was downright surreal. “Christo.”

Sam didn’t flinch, though he did smirk at him, eyes still serious. It’d been worth a shot. 

Dean sighed, just leaning his back against the wall next to the bathroom for a second, thumping his head into the wall a few times as if that would make things start making sense again. No such luck. His arms crossed themselves against his chest on their own volition and Dean knew he was acting defensive out of something _Sam_ had done, but he figured the situation merited some panic and Sam didn’t look like he’d oblige him.

“I’m your brother.” Dean enounced slowly, like the fact could have escaped Sam’s notice. He wasn’t prepared to the flash of _something_ crossing Sam’s expression, like Dean had hit the nail on the head with such a ridiculously obvious statement. “What? You’d forgotten that little detail while you were slipping me tongue?” 

“No.” Sam said, but that unrecognizable something was still there, lurking in his eyes as he stood to face Dean from the few feet that separated them. The silence felt oppressive while Dean just looked at him, waiting for some sort of explanation.

“Dean, I buried my brother.” Sam finally said. 

Dean received the calm words like a stab to the chest. 

Before he could fully react, Sam was coming closer, too close, and Dean pushed away from the wall, determined not to be cornered into this again. He pushed past Sam and stood closer to the door, fighting the urge to run away from this entire situation. 

“I buried you and I mourned you as my older brother. Like the guy who gave up everything for me. No, I’m not saying this to hurt you, ok? I’m not. I’m- I’m trying to explain why-”

“You’ve always been pretty shitty at this whole sharing and caring thing, you know that?” Dean interrupted him, sarcasm and shields back in place. For the time being, at least, though Dean was sure the minefield ahead would wreck havoc on his walls. 

“For all you push and shove for it, Francis, you never do know what the hell to do with things out in the open. So let me try and decipher your freaky brain waves. You no longer see me as your older brother, is that it? It took four months for that to lose all meaning for you?” 

“Damn it, no, that’s not-” Sam said, backing off and trying to take a hold of the conversation. Dean had been the witness of that so many times when Sam fought with Dad. Might as well take a page from Dad’s book and not let it happen.

“It is, isn’t Sam? You forgot what being my brother means.” Dean talked over Sam, spreading his arms and trying to hide how much it hurt when Sam didn’t refute him right away, looking like he was desperate to make Dean shut up but not because he was wrong at all. Sam could never stand having things shoved in his face. That had always been Dean’s weapon against him, his ability to read what Sam didn’t want him to. 

Dean really wished he’d read this one wrong.

“You replaced me with Ruby and your little power trip and now you don’t know what to do with me being back.” Dean continued, mostly to fill the silence where Sam’s denial should be. He hated how true the words rang, how much they shocked him even as he said them, shook him as much as they struck Sam. 

“I love you!” Sam shouted when Dean took a step back to gather his thoughts, the sentiment so out of place in the direction their argument was headed into that it gave Dean pause. That was enough for Sam to move in. 

“Dean, I love you so much. That hasn’t changed a bit. I couldn’t breathe when I thought what you were going through because of me. I didn’t even let myself think about it, I still- I can’t. Dean, I can’t.” Sam said and he was moving closer again, slow steps and Dean didn’t know why, but he let him. “And seeing you now, it’s in my face all the time and I’m trying to fix it. I’m trying to fix _something_ because I’ve failed so much, Dean, I can’t fail at this anymore.” 

“Going darkside isn’t gonna fix shit, Sam.” Dean half-laughed breathlessly, feeling like a broken record. “How is growing into your _demon blood_ going to help me?” 

“I’m going to see us through this.” Sam stated, cock-sure and defiant, but his eyes were wet when he met Dean’s. “I can’t stop now, Dean, I won’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry if I’ve had to push you away but you won’t hear of this. You won’t let me do what I have to.”

“There’s another way. Sam, there’s always a choice,” Dean said, but it sounded weak to his own ears and Sam didn’t even seem to hear him.

“I’m not taking that chance again.” Sam said, looming over Dean without trying to, inches away from him and looking him dead in the eye. “You need to understand that.”

“What part of _angels_ telling me to stop you don’t you get?” Dean retaliated with, the thought of Castiel giving him some leverage to fight back. “How is that okay?”

“I thought they’d help,” Sam confessed, a self-deprecating smile in place that looked strange on Sam. “The angels, when you told me about them. But no, Dean, they’re letting this happen. They’re putting you on the line.”

“Stop talking about me like you need to protect me!” Dean exploded, but Sam was ready for him when he tried to push him away, holding him firm by the arms.

“I do. Dean, I do need to. I need you to _let_ me.” He said, voice growing quieter, eyes on Dean’s lips and suddenly Dean remembered what had just happened.

“Sam-”

“Don’t tell me you don’t want this.” Sam said, his grip on Dean growing gentler but Dean didn’t move away, trapped by Sam’s stare. “The Siren, Dean, I’m not stupid. You heard what it said; he gave you what you needed. And that was me. Not a stripper, not a woman at all, you need me. Let me give you that, let me show you.” 

“It gave me a little brother that trusted me.” Dean said, feeling faint and ashamed, but Sam didn’t back down.

“It gave you a version of me that loved you in every way.” Sam said, hands on Dean’s hips and when had that happened? “Like you love me.” 

“Sam, stop-”

“No.” And that was all the warning he got before Sam was swooping down again, lips dry against Dean’s, soft at first, then more firm, just sharing the contact before pushing for more, exploring Dean’s lips and his mouth slowly, carefully. 

Dean broke away and breathed hard against Sam’s face, not surprised when his brother didn’t budge. His _brother_ and maybe Sam didn’t think that mattered anymore, but Dean did. It was all that mattered.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dean breathed into Sam’s ear, voice shaky. 

“I love you.” Sam said, his hold tightening and drawing Dean closer. Dean’s body felt like a board, stiff and uncooperative in Sam’s arms but he wasn’t fighting to move away and he wasn’t sure why. Nothing made much sense. “Let me show you. Dean, let me give you this.”

That broke Dean’s stillness real fast. With a hard shove he was half way across the room in two strides, hands closing on the doorknob before he felt Sam’s body heat standing behind him and Sam arms were around him again, holding him too tightly around his sore ribs. 

“I want to.” Sam said, like that mattered, dodging Dean’s attempt to elbow him in the stomach. “Dean, what the Siren said, it goes both ways. Who do you think I saw when it sprayed me, huh? Who do you think I was fighting for?” 

“This isn’t an option!” Dean ground out, but Sam’s lips were against his throat and Dean was shaking. He knew he was, because it wasn’t, it had _never_ been an option because Dean wouldn’t let himself want it.

“I want to.” Sam whispered and he was shaking too, Dean noticed. There was a damp spot against his neck, Sam’s breathing too fast close to his ear. “I want you, Dean. I want to be this close; I want us to have this. We can.”

“I can’t.” Dean said, the words choking him, but Sam wasn’t listening. His brother never listened when it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. 

“You need me,” Sam was saying, whispering it like a mantra against Dean’s skin. “You always have and I’m never there. But I can be. Dean, I want to be.” 

“Sam-”

“I need you too.” Sam cut him off, his arms tightening when Dean tried to turn around to face him. “I always have and you’re always there and now I need you more than ever, Dean. I can’t- it doesn’t make sense. How much- how I-”

“I’m your _brother_.”

“I want more than that.” Sam told him, voice hoarse and this time he let Dean turn around. Dean could see Sam’s face was wet but his eyes were still unreadable and hard. He wasn’t asking for this, and maybe it was that which scared Dean the most. “We both need more than that.” 

“What’s ‘more’ than blood?” Dean asked after a beat or ten, voice steadier when Sam didn’t make another move. His grip around Dean remained though, more contact between them than there’d been in- hell, months, years. Ever. 

“Choice.” Sam retorted immediately, like he’d thought this through. Always with the plan, with his sight set on the goal and Dean had never been able to stop him from reaching it, no matter what he did. 

Much less when he didn’t even want to.

When Sam moved, this time Dean met him halfway, heart pounding in his ears. Their lips met for the third time, fighting for control as they had been all their lives, figuring out a rhythm for something they’d never done before. 

They fumbled and their teeth clashed twice before Sam’s hands went to Dean’s face again, framing it, tilting it to his satisfaction until it worked, until they could explore each other’s mouths in depth, learning what to do as they went along. 

Dean’s neck ached from the position, leaning upwards to kiss someone for the first time in his life, but that didn’t deter him. Sam was moving with him, half-whispering words between kisses, fingers gentle as they moved against Dean’s cheekbones.

They only broke for air when they couldn’t take it, Dean breathing hard and trying to read how far Sam wanted to push this. Sam didn’t waste a second. His hands left Dean’s face to move down his body, stroking the skin they touched and bunching up the fabric of his shirt. 

They kissed again, like they couldn’t stop once they’d started, broke apart this time when Sam dragged Dean’s T-shirt up and tossed it aside, doing the same with his own. 

Dean didn’t know where to even put his hands, but Sam was already fumbling for Dean’s belt and Dean held on for balance as Sam pushed everything down his legs with little care for gentleness. 

Then they were twisting around, tangled in each other as they stumbled and fell back into one of the beds with Sam fumbling to remove his pants and underwear in between those heated, addictive kisses they couldn’t seem to give up. Dean tried to help but his hands were shaking and he mostly got in the way until finally Sam managed to pop open his belt and kicked his jeans and underwear off without care or grace. 

Skin to skin, the contact was startling and Dean drew back from Sam’s lips to try and assimilate that he was _naked_ with his brother all over him, but he couldn’t catch his breath and Sam was already kissing him again, hands everywhere, moving down Dean’s chest to his nipples, to his hips. 

Dean reciprocated as best as he could, struggling to keep up like he never did in bed with easy, enthusiastic girls that were _nothing_ like Sam was, overwhelming and intense. 

Sam’s hips bore down against his then, stealing both their breaths as their erections came into contact, friction awkward and perfect as they sought out a pace that worked. Sam’s hands pushed Dean’s hips down, held him still as he did it again, rutting against the skin of Dean’s hip and leaving a drop of precome behind. 

This was where Dean should be freaking the fuck out, but he wasn’t. God help him, he wasn’t, hands holding onto Sam’s shoulders, blunt nails buried in the skin and muscle of Sam’s back as they rutted mindlessly against each other, sharing breaths when they couldn’t gather the coordination to do more than lick and bite at each other’s lips. 

“Can I?” Sam breathed suddenly, breaking the chorus of harsh breathing they’d kept up instead of words, making Dean look at him in askance. Sam looked down at him and his eyes weren’t hard anymore. Warm and bright and exhilarated, a little high and dark with lust, much like Dean’s must be, meeting his. “Dean, please, can I?”

Dean knew what he was asking, kind of, vaguely. His mind wasn’t all there, but he nodded, breathless and terrified but more alive than he’d felt in months, more aware of every movement with Sam pressed so close to him, body slick with sweat. 

Then Sam moved away from him, taking his heat with him and Dean felt like someone had dumped cold water over him. He sat up in a rush only to see Sam’s biting off hushed curses as he fought with his carry-on bag, scattering the contents everywhere as he sought out- 

Lotion. Right. And a condom that he brought back like he’d won the lottery and Dean was fighting off a laugh that tumbled out anyway when Sam practically fell over himself to get back on top of him.

“Smooth, Sammy.” Dean laughed and he looked up in time to see something like elation cross his brother’s eyes, smile on his lips widening just before he lowered them to kiss the breath out of Dean again. Dean didn’t know what he’d said that was so great, but he went along with it, giving as good as he got, biting at Sam’s lips until they were red and swollen.

Sam drew back then, looking down at him for a second too long. Dean let him, but he felt himself flush from something that wasn’t just lust when Sam’s eyes roved over his face, his body splayed on the bed like he was the best thing he’d ever seen. 

Dean reached up before Sam could say anything, hands burying themselves in Sam’s hair and dragging him back down, mouthing at Sam’s throat and his earlobe, biting down just hard enough to make Sam shiver against him. Sam’s hands were busy fumbling with the condom and Dean didn’t help, trying to delay the inevitable as his nerves tried to make him tense up. 

Sam didn’t let him. He put the condom on with practiced motions, tossing the wrapper somewhere over his shoulder and then leaning his entire weight on Dean, creating more of that maddening friction, stealing what was left of Dean’s breath. His right leg rose up out of its own volition to wrap itself around Sam’s hip, pushing their lower bodies closer together and making them both moan out loud. 

Sam’s hand left his side for a moment and suddenly it was back, slicked with something cold that made Dean jump when he felt those fingers moving from his cock to circle his balls and slip further down, leaving a shiny trail in their wake. 

The lotion smelt like something a girl would wear, and Dean would have teased his brother about it if Sam’s fingers weren’t circling his hole all of the sudden, making any jokes about Sam’s manhood woefully inappropriate. Dean tried not to tense up, but couldn’t help it, Sam’s weight against him suddenly suffocating.

“Hey,” Sam called softly, trying to meet his eyes, but Dean looked away, feeling his body rapidly begin to cool down from the high it’d been on so far. 

Sam pulled his exploring hand away and drew back to stare at him until Dean looked back, finding Sam’s expression to be almost too serious for the circumstances. Especially since his other hand hadn’t moved, still wrapped around Dean’s cock and stroking him steadily, grip careful but firm.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to,” Sam told him, but didn’t look remotely like he wanted to stop. “You can do me.” 

And though the thought had its appeal, Dean wasn’t backing down like some wuss to let Sam do what Dean wouldn’t do himself. That wasn’t like him at all, ghost sickness from a few months back aside. 

“Go for it.” Dean said, trying to smile, bucking his hips up so Sam would stop looking so worried. It worked. Sam bit his lip and frowned, but he couldn’t stop from thrusting back against him. He looked ready to burst, so Dean made things easier, doing his best to relax against the bedding and let Sam take the lead, drawing up his legs so his feet rested on the bed and Sam was cradled between them. 

“You say the word and I’ll stop.” Sam tried to reassure, though it kind of sounded like a warning to Dean as he felt Sam’s other hand hurry up the pace on his dick, which still seemed quite interested in the proceedings. 

Then Sam’s lips were on his again, tongue moving in for the kill and making thinking difficult for a while, though it wasn’t much distraction when one of Sam’s slick fingers circled his entrance once before pushing in to the first knuckle, then further inside with little pause. Dean didn’t even recognize the noise he made then, but Sam didn’t stop. The kiss became gentler though as that finger explored inside him, staying there as Dean fought to relax around it and let it. 

It didn’t hurt until Sam started to push in a second one in, the burn making Dean break the kiss and move his head away, trying to catch his breath. Sam started whispering in his ear then, an endless string of nonsense that helped ground him somehow, let him relax into it. 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Sam said, kissed his ear, his neck and Dean moaned in response, feeling Sam smile against his skin. “Let me in, Dean.”

Then that second finger was fully inside, both of them stretching him carefully, slowly, Sam promising him everything with words of affection Dean would never allow in other circumstances. 

“You’re perfect.” Sam said suddenly and Dean kind of laughed, breath leaving him as Sam took the chance to twist his fingers a little and suddenly- there- was a sensation Dean had n never felt before like someone had shocked him from the inside out in a burst of pleasure so sudden it made him arch up into it, Sam’s weight keeping him steady as Sam told him how perfect he was, how beautiful.

“Stop that.” Dean wheezed, meaning the words, though Sam kind of froze above him. “Not that!” Dean whined then, drawing a laugh out of Sam, who thankfully stopped telling him girly compliments and started stroking his dick with more purpose, making Dean go wild as his fingers pushed against his prostate every time he reached the head. 

“S-Sammy!” he tried to warn, but Sam didn’t stop, kissing the side of Dean’s lips, his eyes, his forehead with heated murmurs Dean couldn’t make sense out of. He bucked up against Sam, moaning like a damn porno star but Sam didn’t seem to mind, keeping up his strokes until Dean couldn’t catch a breath and his body went out of his control, thrusting against Sam’s fingers on his dick and back against that maddening, strange feeling of having Sam _inside_ him and that was it, he was gonna- 

Dean arched up completely when he came with a shout, hands buried in Sam’s hair, stars filling his head while Sam stroked him through it, not relenting even when the sensation became almost too much for Dean to handle, his skin raw and sensitive. 

“Sam,” He half-groaned, but Sam just kept going, eyes on Dean like he couldn’t look away. 

His own come made Sam’s hands more slippery, and Dean made a whimpering noise he kind of hoped Sam missed. Slowly, he became aware of feeling too full and he realized that Sam had slipped another finger inside him at some point, three of them large and intruding, keeping him spread around them. His body was too lax from his orgasm to put up much resistance, so Dean just closed his eyes and let Sam continue, trying not to squirm as Sam dipped more lube inside him until his fingers slid in with more ease. 

Then Sam moved, fingers withdrawing, and Dean tentatively opened his eyes to see Sam staring at him, gaze dark, sweat making strands of his hair stick to his skin. Dean gathered enough brainpower to raise his hand and touch Sam’s condom covered erection, aware he’d kind of left Sam hanging there, no pun intended, but Sam stopped him, swooping down to steal another kiss as he pushed Dean’s thighs farther apart, settling more comfortably against him, erection lined up where it meant to go.

“Just relax, I’ve got you.” Sam whispered against his lips and Dean was about to snap at him for making it sound so damn easy, but Sam moved then, the head of his cock entering Dean too fast, slipping past his walls and Dean lost all coherent thought other than Sam, inside and holy FUCK. 

It hurt. Even with the prep, Sam was fucking _huge_ and Dean wasn’t ready for that. He gasped out something garbled that Sam kissed into silence, hands soothing on Dean’s chest, on his hips, holding him steady as he slowly pushed in, inch by inch until Dean thought he might scream from the sensation overload. 

“That’s it. That’s it, Dean, relax, you can take it.” And that would have pissed Dean off if he hadn’t been so busy trying to _breathe_.

Then Sam was in, buried inside him to the hilt, his balls against Dean’s ass and he was aware that his hands must be digging grooves into Sam’s back, but the fucker deserved it. 

Dean didn’t dare move, body tense as he processed the sensation of being so unbelievingly full. Sam didn’t move either, licking a distracting trail down Dean’s neck, sucking marks as he held steady with more will-power Dean would have probably had. 

It was incredible. Heat like nothing he’d ever felt burning him up from the inside out, but it was nothing compared to when Sam slowly started to move back, let him feel every single inch of him drawing back with excruciating care.

Dean wasn’t even aware of the embarrassing noises he was making by now. He was driven out of his mind, barely processing that Sam was back to his stupid babble of compliments in his ear, drawing back, back, then suddenly _in_ again, inside to the hilt, the push so sudden Dean actually slipped up the bed with the force of it as Sam started to move inside him, thrusting slow and deep like he had all the fucking time in the world. 

“Please, please, Sam, Sammy,” Dean was saying, though he had no idea what he was begging for until one of Sam’s hands moved to his dick again. It was still somewhat soft but slowly filling up again, breaking Dean’s own records because he’d just come, but it was impossible not to be aroused by every push of Sam against his prostate, deliberate thrusts that sought it out like he _had_ to and Dean sure wasn’t gonna complain.

Dean’s legs ached from where they were spread wide and vulnerable around Sam’s hips. Dean welcomed the pain, needed to find some focus as he moved his hand all over Sam’s slick skin, teasing his nipples, biting his throat, anywhere he could reach that would make Sam groan like he was dying of pure need. 

Sam braced himself with one arm next to Dean’s head, sped up his relentless thrusts as he fucked into Dean’s ass, bit his neck, his lips, half kissed him between licks and nips that were driving Dean insane. 

Dean was completely overwhelmed from every angle as Sam kept up stroking him into another erection, hand uncoordinated as he thrust up again. Sam’s breathing was harsh and loud and he moaned his name every time Dean squeezed around Sam’s length inside him, _inside_ him and that still didn’t sound any less amazing every time Dean thought about it, but- but- 

It wasn’t quite enough, still too slow, too controlled, and Dean had about enough with Sam doing most of the work. Dean squeezed both of Sam’s nipples between his fingers, making Sam freeze with the sudden pain and that was enough for Dean to push him onto his back on the bed, his dick slipping out of Dean with a pop that sounded obscene. 

Sam looked up at him with wide, bewildered eyes until Dean moved to straddle him, and then his expression turned into shock and his eyes went practically black with lust. 

“My turn!” Dean announced cheerfully, biting his lip when he lined up Sam’s dick against his entrance again and slowly lowered himself down, relishing the burn and the control over how deep to go, how fast. 

Sam let him do the work then, hands on Dean’s hip to hold him steady, his expression completely awed and Dean couldn’t rein in his grin, even when he knew his muscles would make him pay for this later. 

Then he thrust his hips down, burying Sam inside, deeper than before and he lost all coherence with a moan that rivaled Sam’s. Sam’s hands tightened their hold around him but didn’t move him and Dean began to speed up his pace, riding Sam as hard as he dared to as his body fought to accommodate him, Sam’s incoherent ramblings spurring him on. 

“Fuck, Dean, so fucking perfect like that, that’s it—that’s—Jesus—”

Dean opened his eyes when he felt Sam stiffen up beneath him, choking on his words and looked just in time to see Sam lose it completely. His body arched up and raised Dean up with him, hands leaving bruises behind as he finally lifted Dean up by his hips and moved him like he wanted to. Dean lost it with the sudden movement and felt himself tighten up around Sam’s length as his orgasm rushed through him seconds after Sam’s, his own cry echoing through the room.

Dean practically blacked out from the force of it, but he maintained enough of his senses to know he’d collapsed on Sam’s chest, breathing harshly and that Sam wasn’t doing much better. 

He tried to raise himself up on his elbows when he felt some strength coming back to his limp muscles, but Sam raised a hand and set it, heavy and warm on the back of Dean’s neck, holding him where he was for a few minutes of silence as they tried to come back down. 

Dean wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to come back down, though. 

“Thank you.” He heard Sam say, felt a kiss being pressed into his hair and he raised his head with some difficulty to stare at Sam incredulously. “What? That was freaking amazing, Dean.” 

“I noticed.” Dean kind of laughed, squirming when he realized Sam was still inside him. Sam noticed it too in that moment, and he oh-so-carefully maneuvered Dean up so he could slip out. It stung and Dean couldn’t help a grimace, unsurprised when Sam seemed worried at that. “I’m fine.” 

“Yeah.” Was all Sam said as he slowly started to sit up. Dean lifted his own heavy limbs off him, collapsing on his side next to Sam, his muscles feeling like rubber. He watched with some detachment as Sam tied off the condom and tossed it in the general direction of the garbage can before he turned to face him again, gaze searching. 

Dean thought it was terribly warped that it took _this_ to happen between them before he could read Sam’s expressions like a book again, same as before hell, before Dad, before Stanford, even. They were on the same page all of the sudden, insecure and needy and trying to make things make sense.

“You okay?” Sam asked anyway, the question inevitable and Dean just nodded, watching him. He wasn’t sure what he could say to what had just happened. “You do know I want this to happen again, right? Probably a lot?” 

“I sure hope so.” Dean returned without much heat, the words sounding more sincere than they really should have, but Sam didn’t let him look away. “So, what now? We didn’t exactly fix things with this.” 

“Didn’t we?” Sam retorted calmly, laying down on his side so he was facing Dean, skin inches away. 

“Recap it for me.” Dean muttered, searching Sam’s face for a hint. “What exactly did we fix?”

“Us, for one.” Sam answered quietly, one of his hands moving slowly until it met Dean’s skin, covering the mark on his shoulder. “We know where we’re coming from, right? We- we have this. That’s everything there is to have.” 

“I won’t stop being in your way.” Dean blurted out, unprepared for the way Sam’s eyes softened at that. 

“I don’t really want you to.” Sam said, gently squeezing his shoulder, moving to cradle the back of Dean’s head in his huge paw. “That’s your choice. This is mine.” 

“Sammy-”

“I won’t leave you.” Sam said, effectively shutting him up. “Not for anything. I won’t give you up for _anything_ Dean, I promise you that. So you’ll- you’ll have to trust that. Trust me. And we’ll go from there.” 

Dean didn’t really have anything to say to that. He let Sam pull him closer, let him kiss him again, slow and careful, offering so much with the touch of his lips. Dean wanted to trust it. He kissed back and watched as Sam moved to the bathroom to clean up before standing and moving to his own bed with slow, careful movements. 

Sam walked back out after a few minutes, still naked and tossed him a washcloth. Dean used it with a grimace, cleaning himself off as best as his exhausted body let him before giving up and tossing the damp rag away. His body was one big ache. Dean sighed as he laid down under the covers to stare at the wall for a while. Sam didn’t say anything either, but it wasn’t long before he came over and laid down next to Dean in the untouched bed.

“You have your own.” Dean said, to fill the quiet, and felt Sam grin when his brother pressed himself against his back, arm going around Dean’s waist. 

“It has the wet spot, so shut up and cuddle.” Sam murmured and Dean laughed a little, relaxing almost without meaning to against his brother’s hold. It felt safe and warm and not as new as it should have, not as familiar either.

Maybe this was enough for them. 

Dean wanted to believe it could be, more than anything in the world.

That night he slept and dreamt of Sam, watching him with a fond smile and open arms as Dean carved out their father’s heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Title's from the Radiohead song Jigsaw Falling Into Place.


End file.
